a hole down which of late I cannot help but fall
by Ravenspear
Summary: Michael and Raphael, and a sickness called loss of hope. Michael/Raphael.


**Title: **a hole down which of late I cannot help but fall******  
****Pairing:** Michael/Raphael  
**Summary:** Michael and Raphael, and a sickness called loss of hope.

* * *

Lucifer rebels. Lucifer fights. Lucifer loses.

Gabriel and Uriel look fragile and young, hanging in the dark, frozen abyss at the bottom of which Lucifer's prison has been carved out of the primordial ice, and Raphael supposes he looks just as shaken, just as uneasy.

But not Michael. Michael is radiant and glorious, triumphant and at ease, the perfect general as he rises from the deeps to meet his brothers, his army.

He is a perfect, beautiful sound, but Raphael can hear how he is... distant, perhaps, or muted. A part of the harmony, but not _quite_ in it, and it is not until much later, when they are alone, far away from any eyes but God's, when Michael presses so very close, that Raphael truly understands. Because Michael's being splits open and lays its song bare for him, and Michael is in agony, exhausted and angry and so full of grief. Michael is fragile and young, too, and the weight put on his shoulder in this new world is excruciating.

It breaks Raphael's heart, and as he embraces Michael, lets him rest his weight against him, he swears that he will die before he lets Michael's burdens break him.

o

The Watchers are imprisoned and their children slain, and afterwards Gabriel leaves, disappears into the ether like he never was.

Uriel is angry, furious, betrayed, and the sun screams and flares in time with him.

Michael is the one to go to him, lets him burn out his explosive rage in the circle of Michael's sheltering arms, sheltering wings, speaks soothing words into his hair - words of strength and unity and brotherhood, of _family_ - until Uriel is calm, until he can go on.

Much later, Raphael finds him, hidden away in the far reaches of Heaven.

"Go away," Michael sighs. "Please, Raphael, I can't..." he trails off, and he looks so _tired_.

"I'm not asking you for anything, Michael," Raphael says, kneels beside him, rests soft hands on his arms, his face, over his heart. "I'm here to ask if _you_ need anything."

Michael sighs, and there is pain in his eyes when he turns to face him. "I lost him, too, Raphael," he whispers, voice strained. "I've lost my brothers, _too_."

"I know," Raphael whispers, kisses Michael's brow. "I know."

"It _hurts_, Raphael," Michael breathes, hands hard where he grips Raphael to him. "I don't think I'm strong enough."

"No, you'll be strong enough," Raphael promises. "You _are_ strong enough, Michael. And whenever you feel like you aren't, I'll be there to lend my strength to yours."

"Always?"

"Always and forever, I swear."

o

Uriel is called to Atziluth alone.

It is a long time before he returns (long enough for two human cities to burn under a rain of fire and brimstone), and when he does, he's lessened and cold.

He doesn't stay for longer than it takes to inform them of his demotion before passing down into Yetzirah, to take up his new position in the regiment led by Arariel. He never comes back to Beri'ah again.

So then it's just the two of them left, of the first five, and Raphel's wings mutes Michael's roars of grief and rage, keeps them for him alone.

o

A lot of time passes.

Michael leads, and Raphael supports him.

They trade kisses, hidden away in places where Michael can be just Michael, not the glorious general.

They both still ache with those old pains, but as long as Michael still smiles, Raphael is content.

o

"Atziluth is empty," Michael tells him, eyes hard, voice cold, all of him harsh and grating and too-bright.

"What?" Raphael whispers, feels himself pale, light growing diffused and off-color in shock. "How do you-"

"I went there."

"Without a summons? Michael-"

"It's _empty_, Raphael," Michael cuts him off. "That is why there has been no orders, why the Voice has not spoken. God is gone."

"What..." He can't even finish the sentence, was never built to comprehend what he's about imply.

"Perhaps he has grown tired of us, left us behind," Michael says, always strong enough, even for things he wasn't designed for. "Or perhaps he died as the Son," he adds, quieter, but still as harsh.

Raphael feels all of him shudder, vibrate uncontrollably, discordant and awful.

Then Michael's hand is on him, and he is grounded. "It will be alright, Raphael," Michael says, and he is soft and gentle as he pulls him up, wraps him in his wings. "We will go on as we have. No one else will know, and nothing will change."

And Raphael is chilled by the words, because he has never heard Michael ever lie before.

o

A lot of time passes.

Michael leads, and Raphael supports him.

They still trade kisses, but rarely now, and Michael is never the Michael Raphael remembers from before the illicit trip to Atziluth. He never lays himself bare anymore, never rests against Raphael without reserve, trusting him to carry his weight. Raphael never meets his eyes anymore, because he can't bear to see how cold they are.

Michael never smiles anymore, and Raphael burns with loneliness.

o

Raphael doesn't find out about the Apocalypse until after all the wheels are already set in motion.

"You didn't need to know," Michael says when he confronts him. "You weren't necessary for it."

Raphael moves closer, frantic. "Michael, you can't be serious! This is the End of Days you're setting off!"

"Yes," he replies easily. "It is, and I am."

"I know you are angry, Michael," Raphael says, lays a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I know you are angry at Him for leaving us behind, but this is mad. You are going to destroy_everything_."

And Michael blinks, looks at him as if he barely recognizes him at all. "Oh, Raphael," he murmurs, kissing him softly as he slowly, ponderously lays his hands on Raphael's body, holds him fast with a grip much harsher than usual. "How wrong you are. I'm not angry."

Michael's hands are rough on his face, and Raphael shudders as Michael forces him to look in his eyes, cold and empty.

"Haven't you understood it yet, brother?" Michael asks. "I'm not angry, because I'm not _anything_ anymore. I'm dead, Raphael. I'm dead, and all I want is for it all to end. So I'll make it end. The seals will break, Lucifer will walk, and then I'll fight him and one of us will die. And it will all be over. Paradise. The end."

"You _can't_, Michael," Raphael whispers, tries to find anything in Michael's eyes to cling to, any spark of life. "You're stronger than this, than _anything_. You can't do this."

"I can, and I will," Michael whispers against his mouth. "And I will succeed, because yes, I am strong. Strong enough to reach out and _take_ the only thing I want anymore." He sighs, strokes Raphael's hair gently. "But I know you've been lonely, Raphael. I know you've wanted me to share myself with you again, like we used to. And I'm _sorry_. So as a parting gift, let me give you what _you_ want."

And he kisses him, harsh and vicious, and it feels like _nothing_. There is no emotion in it; no desire, no anger, no grief, not even any sort of sadistic joy. Just... nothing. Nothing at all.

Then Michael is splitting apart, his essence opening itself up to him, and it tastes like cold and dust and stillness. "No," Raphael whispers, begs. "Please, Michael, no."

Michael stops, and smiles brokenly. "You refuse to share my burdens now, Raphael? Because it's _hard?_ Forever must not have been very long."

"I'm sorry, Michael," Raphael whispers, struggles to raise a hand to Michael's face, to stroke his cheek. "I thought I could heal you, make you better. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, brother," Michael says, voice gentle, softly shaking his head. "I don't want you to be sorry for me, I just want you to _see_."

And as Michael's broken song wraps around him, Raphael _does_.

o

_"This is funny to you? You're living in a godless universe."_

"And? What, you and the other kids just decided to throw an apocalypse while he's gone?"

"We're tired. We just want it to be over."


End file.
